


Flying High

by Laur



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Airplane Sex, Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, First Time as Husbands, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Just Married, M/M, Mile High Club, they're so in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 08:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19808311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laur/pseuds/Laur
Summary: The restlessness of the other passengers was making Crowley antsy. Not bad antsy, per se. Low-level doom and gloom was kind of his scene after all, but nonetheless, he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep. Aziraphale’s hand on his knee wasn’t helping matters.“Do you know what the mile-high club is, angel?”





	Flying High

**Author's Note:**

> I am very excited for my first contribution to the Good Omens fandom! I can't get enough of these two.
> 
> Also, trying out footnotes for the first time, we'll see how they go...
> 
> You can also find me on [Tumblr!](https://notesoflore.tumblr.com/)

“Welcome aboard, gentlemen.”

The flight attendant, whose name was Melissa, gave them the fake smile of airline staff the world over. Crowley felt an answering spark of demonic happiness in his chest. “ _So_ glad to be here,” he said, ducking his head as he stepped onto the plane. “Aren’t we glad to be here, angel?”

Aziraphale shuffled on behind him, clutching his antique travelling bag in both hands. “Oh, yes,” he agreed weakly, his smile as authentic as Melissa’s.

“We’re going on our honeymoon,” Crowley continued, now holding up the queue of people behind them.

They were, in fact, going on their honeymoon. Crowley was very fond of using this as an excuse for truly extravagant amounts of PDA, which had the double advantage of making Aziraphale blush and annoying everyone around them. Two birds with one temptation, or however that expression went. The plane tickets had been a wedding gift from Anathema and Newt, with a discreet contribution made by Madame Tracy, despite Shadwell’s protests. Aziraphale might still have been able to politely refuse if it hadn’t been for the Them, who had spent a week combing the Tadfield streets for dropped coins to chip in.

“Oh, congratulations,” Melissa gushed, with a tightening around the eyes that meant she already knew she’d be getting complaints about these two. “Would you like help finding your seats?”

“Oh, no, we’re quite alright, thank you,” Aziraphale said, nudging the demon in the back. “Go on, dear.”

They went through the awkward shamble down the aisle, pausing for people to shove their too-large luggage into the too-small overhead compartments. It was a miracle everything fit.

Crowley looked over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow at Aziraphale, who coughed.

“Aisle 24, was it?” he prompted, but Crowley shook his head with a mischievous smile.

“Look again.”

Aziraphale did. His boarding pass was as surprised as he was to find its seat upgraded. “Oh, Crowley, you shouldn’t have.”

“But I did.” He waved gallantly for Aziraphale to sit, offering him the window seat.

“What is this?” On their seats were plastic bags containing a miniscule pillow and a tissue-thin blue blanket. Aziraphale inspected his plastic bag in bewilderment as he sat rigidly with his luggage in his lap. “I say, these simply can’t be comfortable.”

“They’re not meant to be comfortable.” Crowley collapsed beside him and then frowned. With a snap of the fingers his seat became infinitely more sprawl-able. He thrust out his foot just far enough into the aisle to be a tripping hazard, but not far enough to seem deliberate. “They’re meant to convince passengers that the airline cares that they’re comfortable.”

“What an odd concept.”

“Not one of mine. You gonna use yours?”

“Oh, no, I don’t imagine so. Here.”

Crowley took the offered plastic bag, tearing it open with his teeth so he could stuff the pillow behind his back. He shot his husband a winning smile. “Thanks, angel.”

“You’re quite welcome, dear.” He placed his luggage by his feet so he could fumble with the seat belt.

Someone nudged Crowley’s foot out of the aisle, and he turned to find a business-type man glaring at him. Crowley glared back.

“ _Honestly_ ,” the man huffed as he turned away, then stumbled as his bag came unzipped, dumping its contents to the floor to the consternation of everyone behind him.

Aziraphale tsked at the demon.

“What? He started it.”

Once everyone was seated with no further complications, the screens in front of them blinked to life for the safety video. Aziraphale jumped a little in surprise.

“I miss when they did this in person,” Crowley complained. “’S much funnier.”

“Oh, my,” Aziraphale breathed as the cartoon plane deployed its emergency life rafts. “It’s almost as if they _expect_ the plane to crash.” He sat ramrod straight, wringing his hands like a distressed Victorian.1

“Oh relax, angel.”

A flight attendant tapped him on the shoulder. “Seatbelt, sir.”

With a sigh, Crowley fastened the restraining device. “I promise it will be fine.”

“I can’t help it.” Aziraphale bent to feel around under his seat, looking for the inflatable vest. “Sitting in a metal tube, flown by humans, over the open sea, is not _relaxing_. And they’re just so _fast_.”

It was in part thanks to Aziraphale, with a not-so-minor miracle, that the Wright brothers had had any amount of success with their flying machines. It was a miracle he was regretting at the moment, as he flipped through the plane’s emergency leaflet.

After the world had been inspired by the Wright Flyer, Aziraphale had been overjoyed by the resulting explosion in international commerce, travel, and dissemination of knowledge. Crowley had taken credit for the resulting increase in wars, terrorism, and bombings, though the humans had seen those opportunities all on their own. After that mess, Aziraphale hadn’t paid much mind to aeroplanes. He wasn’t one for travelling if he could avoid it, and when it was really necessary, he tried to miracle himself across as much of the distance as possible.

His willful ignorance may have been an oversight, he was now realizing, as the demon had had free-reign of the industry without the angel’s thwarting.

Crowley was proudly responsible for duty-free alcohol, terrible microwaved meals, chairs that made your buttocks go numb, and magazines in the front pouch filled with nothing but advertisements. When the engineers were designing the airplane loo, the dimensions in the final blueprints were mysteriously three inches smaller than the originals and no one ever questioned it. Crowley was also an old hand at confusing airport design.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure when air travel had become so hellish, be he suspected it was some time before they stopped serving peanuts. It was better than a boat, he supposed. Or a horse. He shuddered.

The privacy partition between them was lowered and Crowley’s hand settled on his wrist. The plane was rolling down the runway at this point. “When’s the last time you’ve even been on a plane?”

Aziraphale considered. “I believe it was 1969. But only to perform a miracle – I didn’t actually stay for the flight.” He tucked away the pamphlet to better hold Crowley’s hand. “What about you?”

“Remember that film I made you go see with me in 2006?”

“2006?” Aziraphale thought for a moment, absently stroking the blue veins in the back of Crowley’s hand. “Oh, was it that terrible film, Snakes on a Plane?”

Crowley hummed in agreement, eyes half-mast in pleasure. Aziraphale’s hands were so soft and delicate. “Some time after that.”

The fingers stopped stroking. “Hold on. Isn’t that also the year that airline went out of business? Because of a freak –”

“Snake infestation?”

“ _No_.”

Several passengers eyed them with interest at Aziraphale’s gasp.

Crowley grinned. “Yup.”

“But – how could – you stupid demon!”

“Oh, come on, it was so _funny_ ,” Crowley defended himself, still laughing at the memory. “It was just too _tempting_.”

“What were you thinking, scaring people like that?” Aziraphale protested. “You could have gotten hurt!”

Crowley’s mouth snapped shut. He stared at the genuine distress on Aziraphale’s face, distress for _Crowley_. He was honestly upset by the thought of Crowley being discorporated by a bunch of humans that _he_ had scared. Christ, he was such a bastard in all the right ways. 

“Come here.” Crowley twisted, hissing at the seatbelt until it released him, and pulled Aziraphale into a kiss as the plane took off.

Their ears popped as they gained altitude and they pulled apart with a grimace, both of them moving their jaws to relieve the pressure.

“Wily serpent,” Aziraphale murmured against his lips, and Crowley flicked out his tongue for a taste.

“The original.”

They settled into their seats, Crowley refusing to buckle his seat belt so that Aziraphale was forced to do it, grumbling as Crowley squirmed. Crowley raised his eyebrows at the red-faced human across the aisle who was carefully not looking at them. Aziraphale took out his book to read while Crowley wrestled with his two blankets, snuggling under them as he flicked through the film options. The hum of the engines and the warmth of Aziraphale’s shoulder under his cheek quickly lulled him towards sleep.

“Wake me when they come ‘round with drinks,” he mumbled, eyes slipping closed as angelic fingers carded through his hair.

“Yes, dear.”

They both ordered a glass of red, some terrible airplane wine that was surprised to find itself a much more expensive Bordeaux by the time it met Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s lips. Aziraphale’s lukewarm, disappointment of a microwave meal likewise tasted oddly similar to his favourite dish at the Ritz.

He hummed in pleasure. “You spoil me.”

Crowley, who had decided to pass on the food, watched Aziraphale’s lips seal around his plastic spoon. “Don’t get used to it,” he said. It was an empty threat.

The window shade was up, and Aziraphale gazed out at the sunset as they soared above the clouds, a dreamy expression on his face. “They’ve come such a far way, haven’t they?”

Crowley sipped his wine and watched Aziraphale’s jaw as he chewed. “Give it another decade or so and there’ll be humans living on Mars.”

“Makes you wonder if they really need us at all, anymore.”

Something complicated happened to Crowley’s chest at Aziraphale’s casual uttering of ‘us’. His heart strings2 tugged painfully at the wistfulness in Aziraphale’s tone. “Kind of freeing, really. Could use a vacation. Maybe we could move to Mars someday,” Crowley said carelessly, leaning closer to peer out the window. “Though, for my money, they’ll always need you.”

Turning away from the heavenly sky outside, Aziraphale smiled at him with such warmth it made Crowley want to squirm. “Oh, thank you, my love. That is so k – thoughtful of you to say.”

Crowley did squirm at that, wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, well. That’s me. Thoughtful’s my middle name.”

“I hope that’s not true, since we put ‘J’ on the marriage papers.”

Crowley rolled his eyes heavenward in exasperation, then, realizing his error, closed them instead.

“I don’t think I could bear to leave Earth permanently,” Aziraphale continued, taking a sip of his wine. “Though perhaps we could take that trip to Alpha Centauri one day.”

Snake eyes peered at him over sunglasses. “After all the fuss you made the first two times I asked, you’d really go?”

“Those were completely different circumstances. If we’ve become superfluous, I don’t see why not. I haven’t really had much opportunity to travel, you know. Earth was my first posting.”

“We’ll go for our first anniversary,” Crowley decided, then wondered if he could stand to wait that long. He was going to show Aziraphale the _universe_. “Put it in your calendar when we get home, angel.”

While Aziraphale finished his meal, imaginings of all the stars Crowley could take him to flashed by in Crowley’s mind. They would probably have to get new bodies afterwards, but it would be worth it for Aziraphale’s reaction. He could already picture the look of awe on Aziraphale’s face – awe for something _Crowley_ had created. Crowley was quite proud of his millennia of wiling – he had turned it into an artform, no matter that most of Hell couldn’t appreciate it – but he hadn’t always been a demon. Even before his Fall he had been proud of his work, though in hindsight, perhaps that very pride had contributed to his ejection from Heaven.

After the detritus of the meal had been removed, Aziraphale read and Crowley took another nap just to pass the time. He dreamt of lazing on a beach, basking in the heat, while familiar hands massaged sunscreen into his back. It was perfect, except there was this weird bird screeching somewhere and – was that an earthquake?

He woke to the sound of a wailing baby and the feeling of the plane shaking around them. Aziraphale had abandoned his book in order to clutch at the armrests. 

Crowley rubbed his face against Aziraphale’s jacket. It wasn’t nuzzling – his nose was itchy. “It’s fine, angel. D’you really think I put all this effort into making planes the perfect mass human torture device just for them to crash with a little turbulence?”

“You had nothing to do with the actual functional design of aeroplanes,” Aziraphale countered, voice high as the plane shuddered.

“True. But with the both of us on board, this plane wouldn’t _dare_ crash.”

Aziraphale’s grip loosened slightly. “I suppose not.”

“There, see?” He sat up with a stretch. “Statistically, you’re more likely to be in a car crash than an airplane crash.”

“Certainly, the way you drive.”

“Oi.”

They bickered until the turbulence had passed and Aziraphale was no longer denting his armrests.

“Still too fast for you?”

“You know, when I said that in 1967, I really was talking about your driving. Though I suppose I don’t mind so much anymore, so long as we’re speeding along together.”

Crowley watched his lovely, expressive face and felt very undemonic feelings. He looked up at the light for the loo – unoccupied, good – then the ‘fasten seat-belts’ sign – illuminated, damn – and ground his teeth in irritation. He wouldn’t be able to convince Aziraphale to get up until the seat-belt light was off.

“Are you alright, my dear?”

“Peachy. Wanna watch a film?”

They watched some semi-accurate movie based in ancient Rome, one earbud each, Aziraphale settling without protest under Crowley’s arm to better see his screen.

“I don’t remember it being all that bad,” Aziraphale commented after the third fight broke out twenty minutes in.

“We must have been in different parts of Rome,” Crowley countered, grimacing as one of the characters was stabbed in the gut. Incredibly realistic, these modern films.

“You were so grumpy that time I ran into you,” Aziraphale remembered, a little sadly.

Crowley buried his nose in Aziraphale’s curls. “Maybe I wasn’t too pleased to see a thwarting angel.”3

Aziraphale placed a hand on his knee and began to rub soothing circles that weren’t actually that soothing.

By the time the film was over, the restlessness of the passengers was getting to Crowley. Everyone was uncomfortable, or bored, or irritated, or experiencing intestinal distress, and the dark cloud of tension was making him antsy. Not _bad_ antsy, per se. Low-level doom and gloom was kind of his scene after all, but nonetheless, he wouldn’t be getting anymore sleep. Aziraphale’s hand on his knee wasn’t helping matters.

He tried to resist for about five whole minutes, but he was bored, and Aziraphale was warm, and even the thought of it was exciting.

“Do you know what the mile-high club is, angel?”

The book that Aziraphale had just picked up was put back down again. “I can’t say that I do.”

The loo-light was green. The ‘fasten seat-belts’ light was off. Crowley made his voice as tempting as he knew how. “Would you like to find out?”

Aziraphale pulled away to look at him oddly. “Well, why did you bring it up if you’re not going to tell me?”

Crowley made certain to roll his eyes hard enough that it was evident even with his sunglasses on. “You’re impossible.” He stood and stepped into the aisle.

“Should you really be getting up?” he whispered loudly, mindful of the slumbering humans around them.

Raising an eyebrow, Crowley gestured at the seat-belt sign. “Light’s off. We’re safe.”

“Where are you going?”

“To the loo. Follow me in two minutes.”

“Oh, I don’t need to go, dear.”

“Neither do I.”

Aziraphale, who was actually quite clever, processed his words, took in Crowley’s lecherous smile, and realized what Crowley was going on about. “Oh, my.”

“I’ll be waiting.” With that, Crowley swaggered down the aisle, even more hip in his step than usual.

Aziraphale was entranced, heat flaring to life in his belly. He tucked away his book, neatly folded Crowley’s blankets, and unfastened his seat belt with only a slight hesitation. Once he’d counted to one-hundred and twenty, he stood.

A surreptitious glance assured him that no one was looking as he slid open the toilet door. He was immediately grabbed by the lapels and pulled inside.

With a slide and a click, the door was locked behind him, and he found himself chest-to-chest with Crowley.

“Oh, dear, it _is_ quite cramped in here, isn’t it?” Aziraphale whispered, hardly able to move with Crowley crammed in, too. He took the liberty of removing the demon’s sunglasses and placing them in the tiny sink. At the sight of Crowley’s eyes, he felt some small, tense thing inside of him unravel with happiness.

“Sort of the point, angel.” Crowley kissed him.

Aziraphale relaxed into it, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s trim waist, feeling out the curve of his spine through his clothes. Crowley hummed in approval and dragged his hands up into the angel’s curls. Neither of them needed to breathe, but they were both breathless when they pulled apart.

“I thought you would need more convincing,” Crowley admitted, bending his spine to simultaneously bring their hips together and press kisses to Aziraphale’s jaw.

“We’re on our honeymoon.” The heat in his belly had spread downwards, and he tilted his head back to allow his bowtie to be removed. His hands slid down to a pert bum. “Plus, you’re more than tempting enough, just as you are.”

Crowley shuddered and made an unintelligible sound, both of them hard already and aching for the other. For all that they were immortal beings, whose very nature did not know bodily hungers, they had been living as humans for a long, long time. Long enough to become accustomed, even welcoming, of many of the needs and desires of the flesh. While neither found the human form particularly arousing4, they could appreciate the aesthetics of a slim waist, a plump thigh, or long neck. They could both admire the feel of a well-muscled back, soft skin, and thick hair. During their time on Earth, both had made the Effort to try out sex with humans, sometimes out of curiosity, or for work, or because it felt good.

This was different.

In the past year, since Adam had decided not to end the world, Crowley and Aziraphale had developed a sort of Pavlovian response to each other. No longer was it a purely aesthetic or tactile appreciation for the body that contained their greatest love. Now, it took more of an Effort _not_ to react to a well-placed touch, or a smoothly-spoken word. In their continued indulgence of bodily pleasures, they had become more human for each other than ever before.

It was the closest either would come to experiencing puberty.

Bowtie hanging, collar un-buttoned, Aziraphale shivered as Crowley mouthed at his neck. The things he could do with his tongue were breathtaking. He retributed with a firm massage of Crowley’s arse through his sinfully tight jeans.

“How do members of this prestigious Mile Club typically go about this?”

“Mile-high club,” Crowley corrected, hands slipping to Aziraphale’s flies. “Requires imagination. And flexibility.”

“How fortunate that you have both.” He pulled Crowley up for a filthy, searing kiss, a kiss that had the demon whimpering into his mouth. “Do you mind if I…?”

Slitted pupils blown wide, Crowley gasped, “Anything.”

With a blink, Aziraphale had switched their positions, pushing Crowley up against the wall and lifting his long, flexible leg to wrap around Aziraphale’s hip, foot braced against the sink. Breathless, his hair a wreck, Crowley gripped Aziraphale’s shoulders for balance and grinned. “Bastard.”

“Only for you, my dear.”

Crowley blasphemed and Aziraphale silenced him with another kiss, their trousers opening themselves in self-defence. Their shirts unbuttoned with a thought until they were bare and rocking together, their eager erections rubbing between their bellies. Their wedding bands left cool impressions against skin where they hungrily stroked and grabbed and squeezed each other, delighting in familiar curves, hard planes, and soft mounds.

Aziraphale tugged Crowley’s other leg up so that both strong thighs encircled his waist, then acquiesced to the hand on the back of his head which guided his mouth to a pebbled nipple.5

“Oh, _angel_.”

“It’s odd,” Aziraphale murmured against Crowley’s breast, “how marriage can bring about sin.”

“What,” Crowley gasped, “like adultery?”

“Lust,” Aziraphale corrected, swiping his tongue over the other nipple. “Covetousness. Gluttony. Pride.” For each sin he delivered a stinging kiss, so that Crowley arched and whimpered in his arms. “Oh, how I want you. Have wanted you for so long. I want everyone to know how I love you.”

Nails dug into the skin of Aziraphale’s back where his wings would emerge and he groaned, bowing his head in supplication, adoration. He shouldn’t feel these things, especially not for a demon. However, if there was anything he had learned during his 6000 years amongst humans, and in the last decade especially, it was that rarely was anything as simple as good or bad.

“God, you’re killing me,” Crowley wheezed, only half joking. He was unable to stop squirming, rubbing his erection against Aziraphale’s belly, Aziraphale’s cock against his arse. His skin felt aflame, his heart galloping in his chest – his demonic-human body wasn’t designed to withstand such love, and if he discorporated now it would be more than an inconvenience. “You know what it does to me when you talk like that.”

“I do,” Aziraphale agreed sweetly, and slid miraculously slick fingers between Crowley’s buttocks.

“Oh, yes,” Crowley hissed, head thumping back against the wall.6 “More of that.”

Taking advantage of his bared neck, Aziraphale blessed Crowley’s skin with damp, butterfly kisses, putting just enough heavenly power in it to sting. His slick fingers circled and teased at Crowley’s opening, and Aziraphale was nearly dizzy for the way that Crowley’s body responded to him.

“Should I – ah – change the equipment, as it were?” Crowley wriggled his hips. “Might make this easier.”

“I don’t mind a challenge,” Aziraphale breathed into the base of his throat. “Don’t want you to exhaust yourself with too many demonic miracles.”

“Right, exhausting me is your j –” Crowley broke off with a moan as a fingertip slipped inside.

Aziraphale pressed his forehead against a collarbone, resisting the temptation to take Crowley right then and there. With saintly patience, he gently inserted first one finger, then a second, luxuriating in the heat and stretch around his knuckles.

“’S not my first time, angel,” Crowley complained, slowly sliding down the wall as he squirmed and bucked impatiently.

“It is as my husband.”

All the tension fled Crowley’s body in reaction, forcing Aziraphale to hoist him up with inhuman strength. Red hair tickled his nose as Crowley buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck.

“No fair,” Crowley mumbled, half-dazed and they weren’t even properly fucking yet.

Awash with love for his clinging, needful demon, Aziraphale persuaded a third finger past the tight ring of muscle and grazed the glorious, sensitive bud inside. Crowley shuddered and hissed, his hard cock leaking against Aziraphale’s stomach.

Aziraphale could no longer resist.

“ _Crowley_.”

With a snap of the fingers they were repositioned again, those three inches from the original loo blueprints brought back into existence so that the sink could support Crowley’s weight. There was a crunch as a pair of exorbitantly expensive sunglasses were crushed, but neither noticed, both too focused on the devilishly – heavenly – delicious slide and stretch of Aziraphale pushing inside.

Crowley welcomed him with a keen, legs spread wide and feet planted against the wall in some inhuman contortion. In immortal years, they were practically still novices at this, every time like a revelation. When they were flush together they both paused, trembling, still shocked at the human body’s capacity for pleasure.

“Any other membership requirements?” Aziraphale croaked, lifting his head to watch the fine lines at the corner of Crowley’s eyes crinkle beautifully with amusement and pleasure. It felt like a gift, still, being able to see those expressive lines, so often hidden behind dark lenses.

“Gotta be quick,” Crowley managed, half-strangled. “And quiet.”

“The latter will be a problem for you,” Aziraphale quipped. He cocked his hips to prove his point, forcing Crowley to stifle a yelp.

“The prior _won’t_ be a problem for you,” Crowley shot back, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, settling his thighs in the yielding, perfect dips of Aziraphale’s waist.

“Hardly my fault,” Aziraphale breathed, bringing his lips to the sensitive hollow beneath Crowley’s ear, “that you’re so impossibly tempting.”

A rush of heat poured through Crowley at those words, spoken so, directly against his skin. There was a foreboding tightening in his pelvis that threatened to make him eat his words. “Get _on_ with it, angel.” He was demon enough to admit he was begging.

“As you wish, dear.” Aziraphale proceeded to bugger him silly.

They did not succeed in keeping quiet. How long they took was up for debate. According to an unsurprised Melissa and the rest of the world-weary airline staff, they were on the quick side of average. According to the mortified passenger waiting for the loo, they were an eternity too long. She decided to go wait for a different loo.

Aziraphale thrusted into Crowley’s tight heat with the rapturous, appreciative attention of a distinguished sensualist, careful to tilt his hips for maximum pleasure. They were both sweating lightly, which only happened when they were incredibly distracted. Crowley held on for dear life, feet slipping against the wall and eyelids fluttering with each blissful hit to his prostate. They were crushed together, restrained by the limited space, but the tight, trapped feeling of it only increased their urgency, like coiled springs quivering for release.

Arms shaking, knuckles white where they gripped the sink edge, Crowley hissed and twisted at a particularly divine thrust. He bucked his hips to rub his weeping cock against the hot, plush skin of Aziraphale’s tummy, mindless with pleasure. He had no idea what he looked like, only that Aziraphale was watching him with a near-profane hunger. Possibly even more delicious than the crepes they’d had in 1793.

He could hardly withstand that gaze, and felt his eyes roll back as the pleasure spiked. “There, yesss, _don’t ssstop_.”

Wide-eyed, watching Crowley fall apart in his arms, Aziraphale let a curse slip past his teeth, which never failed to drive Crowley wild. He wrapped a hand around Crowley’s straining cock, feeling it twitch in his grasp. Crowley’s body tightened around Aziraphale’s erection and Aziraphale’s hips kicked hard, automatic.

Crowley arced urgently, mouth dropping open. “Angel, angel, I’m coming.” Body taught, Crowley quivered and spilled over Aziraphale’s massaging hand, his muscles clenching and gripping at Aziraphale’s cock. His cry of Aziraphale’s name was inaudible for lack of breath, the pleasure so sharp it nearly hurt, or maybe that was the angelic love washing over him, powerful enough that even a demon could feel it.

With a shocked inhalation, Aziraphale snapped his hips forward and froze as he followed Crowley into bliss. “Oh, oh, my dear, my love,” he whimpered, enclosing the demon tight in his arms as they shook together. They basked in the cocktail of hormones wreaking havoc in their human bodies, amplified by their millennia of existence and love for each other. It took incredible effort to keep their spirits contained within their human bodies.

Everyone on the plane felt an inexplicable moment of peace and well-being.

When overwhelmed by human pleasure, Crowley tended to lose track of his limbs. To cope, he had, on one or two occasions, found it easier to revert to his snake form. It was an instinct he was fighting now, as Aziraphale hugged him and pressed gentle kisses to his face.

Aziraphale felt Crowley go boneless, noticed the way the serpentine ocher irises had consumed the whites of his eyes, and clucked in alarm. “No, no, none of that, now.”

“Can’t help it,” Crowley slurred, petting drunkenly at whatever part of Aziraphale he could reach. “Feel sssso good.”

“Come now, on your feet,” Aziraphale prompted, pulling the demon up and catching him as he sagged. “ _Crowley_.”

“Ssssnake on a plane,” Crowley snickered, forked tongue flicking out to taste Aziraphale’s nose.

Aziraphale smiled and accepted the invitation for a languorous kiss, thumb stroking the tattoo by Crowley’s ear. With a lazy snap of the fingers, Crowley had them tidied and clothed, though he took the precaution of straightening Aziraphale’s bowtie by hand. 

With a thought, Aziraphale mended Crowley’s sunglasses and retrieved them from the sink, revealing them with a flourish.

“That’s real magic,” Crowley said approvingly.

“Not as much fun, though.” Light as a breath, Aziraphale grazed a thumb over the fond lines at the corner of Crowley’s eye before sliding the sunglasses into place regretfully. All their years together and those glasses still felt like a shield between them.

“They’re just for the humans,” Crowley answered his thought, lifting Aziraphale’s manicured hand to press a kiss to the wedding band. “Who are bound to be suspicious if this loo stays occupied much longer.”

A hint of a blush warmed Aziraphale’s cheeks. “It’s probably too late to avoid that, dear, what with the ruckus you were making.”

A tirade of offended noises tumbled from Crowley’s mouth. “The ruckus _I_ was making?” he managed, unlocking the door. Aziraphale was right – the whole plane probably already knew what they were up to, might as well own it. “Pretty sure you were plenty loud. I mean, I might have gone deaf with pleasure at one point, but I saw the faces you were making.”

“Oh, hush!” Aziraphale swiped at him half-heartedly, following him out of the much-too-cramped loo. The humans that were awake either openly gawked or cringingly avoided eye-contact as they made their way down the aisle. Fortunately, demons are naturally shameless and Aziraphale was much too old to care what people thought of him.

They took their seats as if new Mile-High Club members received badges of honour.7

“Are there any particular steps for maintaining our membership?” Aziraphale asked absently, seat-belt buckled and book open in his lap. Crowley was curled improbably in his chair, head on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“It’s not a formally held club, angel,” Crowley said drily. “No one’s regulating membership.”

“Ah, of course not.” He was silent a moment. He flipped a page. “Regardless. There’s always the flight home.”

A grin snaked across Crowley’s face. Sneaky angel. “I will happily christen every plane we go on.”

Aziraphale gave an un-angelic snort. “Naughty.”

“Demon.”

Aziraphale put down his book. “Husband,” he corrected.

Crowley lifted his head. Aziraphale was wearing one of those expressions that was too mushy to look at for long. He ducked his head again and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand. It would make it harder for him to turn pages but Aziraphale could just suck it up. “Husband,” he agreed.

If anyone had been brave enough to step foot in that particular loo for the rest of the flight, they would have been surprised to find it miraculously clean and three inches more spacious than the others. They would have made a joke about the Tardis. Alas, no one was brave enough, and once the angel and demon had deboarded the plane, their magic left with them. Though Crowley did feel like he was forgetting something.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Which, at heart, he was.Back
> 
> 2\. Yes, they existed. What his superiors didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.Back
> 
> 3\. That wasn’t why he had been grumpy in 8 A.D. and they both knew it. He had been grumpy for reasons related to demonic eyes and having to wear tinted glasses for the first time. ‘I don’t feel like talking about it’ was what Crowley really meant.Back
> 
> 4\. In fact, parts of it were downright ridiculous, though no one dared say so and risk God’s wrath. The appendix? The uvula? Testicles? The wenis? The male nipple? Baffling.Back
> 
> 5\. Perhaps not entirely baffling, that one.Back
> 
> 6\. The passenger closest to the loo woke up and went to tell Melissa about odd sounds coming from the toilet.Back
> 
> 7\. It would be a dubious honour at best. Usually, people got a fine instead.Back


End file.
